Page 101 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“Too late. You already did, remember?” I shove at his chest, but the bastard barely moves an inch.

Confused, he starts, “How did you––”

“Know you went behind my back and tried to start a shitstorm for Milo even after everything I did to keep you quiet?” I finish for him, my tone dripping acid. I shrug one shoulder and mirror the give-no-shit attitude he was sporting only a few seconds ago. “I guess you’re not the only one with secrets.”

“True.” His condescending smirk reappears as the word slips past his lips. “Tell me, does Milo know you were fucking me behind his back?”

The blood drains from my face before I can stop it.

“Didn’t think so,” he adds, his entire body wreaking of triumph. As if he’s already won. And I hate him for it.

This can’t be happening. Not when I’m finally happy for once in my damn life. Not when everything is going so well. Not when I’ve finally been able to let sleeping dogs lie and embrace a future with Milo in it. Or at leasttryto.

No. No, no, no, no.

“You all right there, Em? You look a little…” Marty brushes his finger against my ashen cheek, but I don’t pull away. I’m too numb. “Pale.”

“H-he won’t believe you,” I whisper.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But is it worth the risk? All I’m asking for is one tiny dinner. With you. Me. The kid. And my dad.”

“I can’t––”

“I think you can. In fact, I know you can. And I know you will. Because Gibson was never your kryptonite. It was always Milo, wasn’t it.” It isn’t a question. It doesn’t need to be. He knows the truth as well as I do.

Blinking slowly, I fold my arms and challenge, “How do I know you won’t screw me over after the dinner like you did with Milo’s boss?”

“Because if I do, you’ll run right back to my father and tell him the truth about your kid’s paternity results, and it won’t exactly be beneficial for me, now, will it?”

He’s right. It’s exactly what I would do.

“How do you know your dad will even trust me?” I ask. “You could’ve hired me to lie.”

“The timeline adds up, Em. We even have photographic evidence of us fucking if he requires it.”

I gasp, my pulse spiking. “There is no photographic evidence.”

“You sure?”

My mouth floods with bile, but I swallow it back and keep my head held high, staring down the monster in front of me the same way I would a damn tiger. “You wouldn’t––”

“Sure, I wouldn’t.” He winks. “What’s your new number? I want to be able to reach you next time.”

“Marty––”

“Or I could show up at Milo’s door again…”

Blood boiling, I rattle off the numbers, hating myself more and more with every passing second. As arrogant as ever, Marty types them into his phone. His condescending smirk turns my stomach into knots as he shoves his cell back into the front pocket of his three hundred dollar jeans.

“There’s my girl,” he praises. “And look at the bright side. You’ll even get to meet a celebrity. Most girls would kill for that shit.”

“Why do you think a kid would change your dad’s mind or your money issues?” I ask, unable to help myself. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Because he’ll insist on helping me clean up my mess by paying to help cover the kid’s expenses. Only the account won’t be for the little bundle of joy, will it?”

“You want your allowance back from your daddy?”

“I want what’s rightfully mine,” he sneers.

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